Dark Hunger
by a-study-in-sourwolf
Summary: Dean's life had been a nightmare of violence and pain until he heard his voice...calling to him.Golden and seductive. The voice of an angel. Incredibly AU. The characters have the same name but different story, different personalities, different everything. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

He woke to the knowledge that he was a murderer and the he would kill again. It was the only reason he continued his existence. It was what he lived for. To kill. Pain and hunger crawled through his body endlessly, relentlessly. He lay very still with the earth surrounding him, staring up at the star-studded, night sky. It was bitterly cold. He was bitterly cold; the blood flowing in his veins like ice water, like acid that burned it was so cold.

_Call me to you. I will warm you._

He closed his eyes as the voice slipped into his head. He called to him on every rising now. The voice of an angel. The heart of the demon. His savior. His mortal enemy. Very slowly he allowed breath to seep into his lungs, his heart to take up its steady breathing. Another endless night. There had been so many, and all he wanted was rest.

He floated out of the ground, clothing himself with the ease of long practice, his body clean, where his soul was damned. The sounds and smells of the night were all around him, whispers and scents that flooded his senses with information. He was hungry. He needed to go into the city. As hard as he tried, he could not overcome the need for rick, hot blood. It beckoned and called to him as nothing else could.

Dean found himself in a familiar part of the city. His body traveled the accustomed path before he even thought where he was going. The small church tucked among the rising buildings and maze of narrow streets and alleyways beckoned to him. He knew this neighbourhood, this small city within a larger city. He was familiar with each and every apartment and office building. He knew the occupants and he knew their secrets. He watched over them, watched over their lives, yet he was always alone, always apart.

Reluctantly Dean climbed the steps to the church and stood at the entrance as he had so many times in the past. With his acute hearing, he knew the building was occupied, that the priest was finishing his duties and would soon be leaving. He was much later than usual.

He heard the rustle of the priest's robes as he moves through the church to the double doors. He would lock them – he always locked them before he left – it wouldn't matter, Dean could open them easily enough. He waited in the darkness, deep in the shadows where he belonged, watching the priest in silence, nearly holding his breath. There was urgency inside him, desperation. Dean returned again and again to the beauty of the small church. Something drew him, called to him, nearly as strongly as the call for blood. Sometimes he believed this was where he was supposed to die; other times he thought repentance might be enough. He always went to the church when he knew he had no choice but to feed.

The priest stood for a moment just outside the doors, looking around him, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He actually looked right at him, but he knew he was invisible to him. The priest started to speak, hesitated, and made the sign of the cross in his direction. Dean held his breath, waiting for a lightning bolt to strike him. "Find peace, my child," the priest murmured softly and made his way down the stairs with his slow, measured tread. He remained in the shadows, as still as the mountains rising above the city. How had he sensed his presence? He waited until long after he had gone down the block and turned into the narrow alley leading to the garden behind his rectory. Only then did he dare let her breath out slowly, to breathe again.

Dean went back to the ornate doors, but this time they weren't locked. He looked back to the street where the priest had disappeared around the corner. He knew, then. The priest knew Dean needed his church, and he had silently given his permission for him to enter the sacred, hallowed place. He didn't know what Dean was, but he was a good man and he believed all souls could be saved. He pushed open the doors with a trembling hand.

Dean stood in the doorway of the empty church, wrapped in darkness, his only ally. He shivered, not from the cold air surrounding him, but from the ice deep within his soul. Despite the pitch-black interior, Dean could easily see every detail of the church's beauty. He stared at the crucifix over the altar for a long time, his mind in turmoil. Pain crawled through him as it did every moment of his existence. Hunger was sharp and ravenous. Shame was his constant companion. Dean had come to this sacred place to confess his sins. He was a murderer, and he would kill again and again. It would be his way of life until he found the courage to destroy the evil thing that he had become. He dared not enter, dared not ask for sanctuary.

He stood for a long moment in silence with a terrible unfamiliar burning behind her eyes. It took him a few moments to realize the sensation was tears. He wanted to weep, but what was the use of it? Dean had learned that tears brought the echo of ugly, demonic laughter, and he had taught himself not to cry. Never to cry.

_Why do you insist on suffering?_ The voice was deceptively beautiful. Male. Gentle. A soothing blend of masculine exasperation and charm. _I feel your pain; it is sharp and terrible and pierces my heart like an arrow. Call me to you side. I will come to you at once. You know I can do no other. Call out to me._ There was an underlying whisper of power, of compulsion. _You know me. You have always known me. _

The voice brushed at the walls of his mind like the flutter of butterfly wings. It whispered over his sin, seeped into his pores and wrapped itself around his heart. He breathed the voice into his lungs until he needed to answer, to hear it again. To call out. To obey. Dean needed that voice. It kept him alive. It had kept him sane. It had also taught him things – hideous, murderous things, but necessary.

_I feel your need. Why do you insist on silence? You hear me, just as I feel you when your pain becomes too much to be borne. _

Dean shook his head, a firm denial against the temptation of that voice. He wanted to rid his mind of the deceptive purity of that voice. Nothing could induce him to answer. He would not ever be trapped by a beguiling voice again. He had learned that lesson the hard way, sentenced to a living hell he dared not think about.

Dean forced air into his lungs, controlling his emotions, knowing that there was a chance the hunter could trace him through the sharpness of his despair. A movement in the nearby shadows had him whirling around, crouching low, a dangerous predator ready to attack.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hey guys, I know it's a slow start but I'm writing a very out of my league story here so I want to take time and write details and stuff. It kinda makes it easier for my ideas to flow, ya know. Anyway, be patient. There will be lots of other more interesting stuff happening between Dean and Castiel in the next chapter. Do you like the story so far? Got any suggestions? Please let me know! Either post a review or inbox me. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS welcome! So please don't hold back. Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read this! I hope you enjoy! **_

* * *

There was a silence, and then once again movement. A woman moved up the steps of the church slowly, coming into Dean's line of vision. She was tall and elegant with flawless skin and hair the color of bittersweet chocolate. Her large brown eyes probed the darker shadows, searching for signs that she was not alone.

Dean used supernatural speed, slipping deep into the recesses of the corner alcove, back away from the church door, using stillness to his advantage. He froze in place, hardly daring to breathe.

The woman walked to the double doors, stood for a moment, one hand resting on the edge of the open door. She sighed softly. "I came here looking for you. My name is Jody Mills. I know you know who I am. I know you come here sometimes – I've seen you. I saw you tonight and I know you're here." She waited a heartbeat. Two. "Somewhere," she whispered aloud, as if talking to herself.

Dean pressed his body so tightly against the side of the church, his skin hurt. They were both in terrible danger, but only one of them was aware of it.

"I know you're here; please don't run away again," Jody said softly. Despite her thick jacket, she rubbed her arms to ward off the cold. "Just talk with me. I have so much to say to you, so much to thank you for." Her voice was low, gentle, as if she were speaking to a wild thing, coaxing it to trust her.

There was a terrible tightness in Dean's chest. He was chocking, suffocating, hardly able to breathe. He waited a heartbeat. Two. Drew deeper into the shadows. He could hear the sound of his own heart beating. He could hear Jody's heart following the rhythm of his. He could hear the beckoning invitation of the ebb and flow of blood rushing through veins. Calling to him. Intensifying his terrible hunger. His tongue felt the sharpness of his lengthening incisors. He trembled with the effort to control himself, to stop the inevitable.

Jody Mills. Dean knew her well. She was compassionate and brave, her life dedicated to helping others. A light seemed to shine from her very soul. Dean listened to her often – her lectures, her group discussions, even her one-on-one counselling sessions. Dean had appointed himself Jody's unofficial protector.

"You saved my life. A few weeks ago, when that man broke into my home and attacked me, you came in and saved me. I know you were hurt – there was blood on your clothes – but when the paramedics came, you were gone." Jody closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the terror of waking up to find a furious man standing over her bed. He had dragged her out from under the covers by her hair, punching her so hard and fast she had no time to defend herself. He was the husband of a woman she had helped escape into a sanctuary and he was determined to get the address from her. He had pounded her into a bloody heap on the flood, kicking her and then stabbing at her with a large knife. She had the raw scars on her arms where she had tried to protect herself. "I didn't tell anyone you were there. I didn't say a word about you to the police. They thought he must have tripped over the overturned furniture and fallen awkwardly and broken his neck. I didn't betray you. There's no need to worry; the police aren't looking for you. They don't know anything about you."

Dean bit down hard on his lip and stubbornly remained silent. Fortunately, the incisors had receded. He had enough sins on his soul without adding Jody to the list of his victims.

"Please answer me," Jody opened her arms wide. "I don't understand why you won't talk to me. What harm could there be in telling me if you were hurt that night? There was blood all over you, and if wasn't from me and it wasn't his blood.

Dean felt tears burning in his eyes, clogging his throat. His hands clenched into two fists. "It wasn't my blood. You don't owe me anything." The words were strangled, barely making it past the lump in his throat. It was partially the truth. Jody's attacker had not put a scratch on him. "I'm just sorry I wasn't there earlier, before he hurt you."

"He would have killed me. We both know that. My life isn't the only think I have you to thank for. You're the one who leaves me the money for our safe houses, aren't you?" Jody pursued. "And our women's recovery programs."

Dean leaned against the wall, tired of pain, tired of being so alone. There was something incredibly warming and soothing about Jody. "It's no big deal, it's just money. You do all the work. I'm happy to help in some small way."

"Come home with me," Jody said. "I'll make us tea, and we can talk." When Dean remained silent, Jody sighed softly. "At least tell me your name. I feel your presence often and think of you as a friend. What would it hurt to tell me your name?"

"I don't want the ugliness of my life to touch you." Dean admitted softly. The night was enfolding him as it always did, gently whispering to him so that he saw beauty despite his determination not to see anything good in it.

"I'm not afraid of ugliness," Jody persisted. "I've seen ugliness before, I will again. No one is meant to be alone in the world. We all need someone, even you."

"You aren't making this easy." The words were wrenched from Dean, almost a sob. "You don't know how evil I am. There is no redemption for me. I should never have allowed our lives to touch, not even for a moment."

"I'm very grateful that you did. I wouldn't be here otherwise, and I have much to live for."

Dean pressed his palm to his mouth, ashamed that his hand was trembling. "You're different from me. You're good, you help so many people."

Jody nodded her agreement. "Yes, I do, and without you, I would never have been able to help another woman or child. You've done that, not me. I couldn't have saved myself; I'd be dead right now."

"That's twisted logic," Dean pointed out, but he found a small smile hovering on his lips in spite of the pain knifing through him. He had heard Jody talk to women many times; her voice always seemed gentle and understanding. Jody always knew the right thing to say to set her clients at ease. She was using the same gift on Dean. "My name is Dean. " His name sounded strange to his own ears, it had been so long since he had heard it. Saying it out loud was almost frightening.

Jody smiled, her teeth very pretty, her smile contagious. "I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm Jody." She stepped forward and held out her hand.

Before he could stop himself, Dean gripped the outstretched hand. It was the first time in a very long while that he had touched a human being. His heart slammed painfully in his chest and he jerked away, sliding back into the shadows. "I can't do this," he whispered. It was too painful to look into those clear eyes, to feel Jody's warmth. It was easier to be alone, to hide in the shadows, forever a night creature.

Jody stood silently, faintly shocked by the extraordinary beauty of the young man hiding in the shadows. He was smaller than Jody had first thought – not short, but not tall either. His entire body was sculpted by muscle. His face was arresting, her eyes enormous, haunted, long-lashed and mesmerizing. They were a vivid, brilliant brown-green, holding shadows and secrets and unimaginable pain. Even his mouth was sculpted and inviting. But he had so much more than physical beauty. There was a subtle allure that Jody had never seen before. The voice was musical, mysterious, compelling. Mystical. Everything about Dean was different. Unexpected.

"Of course you can do this. We're only talking Dean. What's the harm in talking? I was feeling a little lonely tonight and I knew I had to see you." Jody took a step toward the shadows that held Dean, wanting to ease the terrible despair on that beautiful face. She had seen trauma many times, but those enormous green eyes were haunted beyond anything Jody had ever known. Those eyes had seen things that should never have been seen. Monstrous things.

Dean allowed his breath to leave his lungs in a little rush. "Do you know how many times I've watched you wield your magic on a woman in need? You have a gift for giving hope to someone who has stopped believing there is hope. If you think you owe me, you don't. You've saved my life many times over; you just haven't been aware of it. I listen to you often, and your words are the only thing in this world that makes sense to me anymore."

"I'm glad, then." Jody pulled gloves from her jacket pocket and drew them over her delicate hands to protect them from the biting cold. "You know, at times everyone feels alone and hopeless. Even I do. We all need friends. If you are uncomfortable coming to my home, perhaps we could get a drink at the Midnight Marathon. It's always a bit noise in there. Would it be so terrible to come and have a cup of tea with me? It isn't as it you're committing to a long-term relationship." There was an edge of humour to her voice, an invitation to join her in shared amusement.

"Tea? I haven't had a cup of tea in years." Dean pressed a hand to his stomach. His entire being wanted to back in Jody's company, but his stomach rolled at the idea of forcing himself to appear normal. He could only imagine the disgust and horror and Jody's eyes if she learned the truth.

"Then I would say it's time. Come home with me," Jody invited softly, obviously pleased.

The wind rushed over the steps toward he doors of the church, flinging up leaves and twigs. Above their heads the clouds began to spin dark threads. There was something more, something in the wing that tugged gently at their clothes and hair, while it rustled alarmingly in the trees and bushes. It was almost like a voice softly murmuring to them. Calling. Whispering, just out of reach. Jody strained to listen, turning her head this way and that to catch the sound.

Dean leapt at her, his breath coming out in a slow hiss of warning. He caught Jody's thick jacket by the lapel, at the same time jerking the doors of the church open wider. He thrust Jody inside. "Listen to me." Dean stared directly into the woman's eyes. "You will not leave this church until morning. No matter what you hear or see, you will not leave this church." He spoke the command firmly, burying in the woman's sub consciousness a compulsion to obey.

Dean sensed the danger behind him and whirled, going low, attempting to jerk his shoulders of our harm's way. He had spent precious seconds ensuring that Jody was safe, and despite his incredible speed, long, razor-sharp nails ripped his arm open from shoulder to elbow. He was already moving, sweeping with his leg as he did so, scoring a solid hit.

From far away came the soft familiar voice that so often summoned him in an ancient tongue._ Call me to you now! _It was a command, nothing less, as if he had felt his physical pain and knew he was in danger.

Dean firmly closed off his mind to everything but the coming battle. He focused completely, watching the undead with an unblinking, predatory stare. He was still, balanced on the balls of his feet, his breath moving evenly in and out of his lungs. Vampire. Creature of the night. Hideous monster. Mortal enemy.

His assailant was tall and slender with gray-white skin and black hair. His teeth gleamed at him as he faced Dean. "Call the woman to us." The voice was low, musical, gentle, a subtle invitation.

Dean rushed at him, straight as an arrow, whipping a dagger from a sheath between his shoulder blades, going straight for his heart. The move was totally unexpected. He thought his voice would enthrall Dean, that it would make him obey. The blade sank into his chest, yet he managed to slam his talons into his injured shoulder, raking deep furrows into Dean's flesh as he leapt backward. He dissolved instantly into a greenish vapor and streamed through the night away from the city. Droplets of red mixed with the green, leaving a toxic, venomous trail for Dean to follow. Deliberately he inhaled the noxious scent so he would know him anywhere.

He heard the echo of that familiar male voice deep inside his mind, his soul, a cry of denial followed immediately by a strange warmth. The wounds in his shoulder burned, but he was used to pain and shut it out. The strange melodic chanting of words in an ancient tongue shimmered in his mind and provided Dean with some solace. Still, he couldn't ignore the blood streaming down from his body. He had not fed in several days and needed sustenance. Mixing the rich soil from the priest's garden with his own healing saliva, he packed the gaping lacerations. Before he followed the undead to his lair, he needed to feed. The city was filled with the homeless, with unfortunate creatures who would have no chance to escape him, even in his weakened condition.

* * *

Castiel hunkered down atop the massive cliff overlooking the city. He was closer his time than he had ever been. He was certain of it. He was out there somewhere, tired and hurt and vulnerable, fighting his war alone. Castiel felt his pain every moment of his waking hours. When he closed his eyes on the rising sun, he felt gut-wrenching agony crawling through Dean's body, crawling through his body.

Patience. He had learned patience in a hard school. Centuries of living had taught him disciplines and patience above else. He was an ancient with powerful gifts, yet he could not bend Dean to his will. He could not summon him to him. He had taught Dean well. Too well.

Far off, he heard the cry of a raptor, a high keening altering him, and he lifted his face toward the stars. Very slowly, Castiel straightened, rising to his full height. "I thank you, my brother," he murmured softly. The wind caught his voice and whipped it out, carrying the sound through the dense treetops and taking it further, over the city. "Our hunt begins, then."

He could never forget the shocking moment when Dean had first connected with him. A child in sheer terror. His pain and agony had been so sharp, so acute, across time and space to merge with him. Mind to mind. Even as a child, Dean had been a powerful psychic. The imagines Castiel received from him had been so vivid, so detailed; he had lived the nightmare with him, through him. The brutal slaying of his parents and brother, the monster draining their blood in front of the child.

He closed his eyes against the memories but they flooded his mind as Dean so often had. He had been continents away, with no way of tracking him, finding him. Yet he lived with Dean through the repeated cruelties, the beatings, through the countless rapes and murders he had been forced to witness. Dean had crawled into his mind, seeking refuge, and found Castiel there. He whispered to him, distracted him, and shared his knowledge with him. A mere child taught to kill. He had no other gift to give Dean. No other way of saving him.

Those were hideous years, years of hopeless seeking. The world was a very large place when one was looking for one small child. Castiel was an ancient, sworn to protect mortals and immortals alike. A powerful being, a hunter and destroyer of the vampire, sent out centuries earlier by his prince, sworn to rid the world of such evil. He had tried to tell Dean there was a difference between vampire and hunter, but in his mind, Dean saw his battles, his kills. He saw the darkness in him, spreading like a stain over Castiel's soul. And Dean was afraid to put his trust in him.

Castiel stood completely still, raw power clinging to his muscular frame as he presented his leather-clad arm to his travelling companion. The large owl circled overhead once, a lazy spiral, then plummeted fast, talons outstretched. The raptor landed on Castiel's forearm, and Castiel bent his head towards its wicked beak. "You've picked up the scent of our prey."

The round, beady eyes that stared back at him were filled with intelligence. The bird flapped its wings, once, twice, as if in answer, and then launched itself into the air. Castiel stared after it, a faint smile in no way softening the hard edge of his mouth. Dean was hurt. He was chasing a vampire and was injured.

There was no denying the connection between them, yet Dean refused to acknowledge him, to answer him. He had no idea how he could be so strong, when he lived with such constant pain, but he could do no other than find him, mind to mind or otherwise, yet he felt he would know Dean the moment he laid eyes on him.

Castiel stood above the city and stared down at the lights twinkling like so many stars. "Where are you?" he murmured aloud. "I am close to you. I feel you near me this time. Finally I am in the vicinity of your lair – I know I am."

Dean had entered his life so many long years ago. They have lived in each other's minds while a depraved monster had tortured a helpless little boy. Castiel had forced himself to feel what he felt, refusing to leave him alone in his living hell. He had made the decision to train him when he could not find a way to get Dean to talk to him. And he had succeeded, all too well, in teaching him to kill. Where once violence had been his world, now his entire existence was dedicated to finding him. In a way, Dean had been his salvation.

Castiel stepped off the edge of the cliff. Easily. Casually. Dissolving into mist as he did so. He streaked through the sky on the trail of the vampire, following the owl as it moved quickly through the night.

Dean had formulated a loose plan of action. When he found the young man, he would take him to his homeland, take him before the Prince. Surely the healers would find a way to help him. A vampire had converted him, made him a creature of the night, and the tainted blood flowing in his veins was an acid that burned him day and night. The young child had grown into a man, honed in the fires of hell, filled with the battle experience of an ancient. Castiel had imparted that knowledge to him, techniques only one of his kind should have. He had helped create him; he needed to find a way to heal him.

The scent of the undead was a foul stench to Castiel, even as the vampire tried desperately to mask his presence from the hunters. The trail led through the city itself, deep in its underbelly where there were no streetlights and no nice homes. Dogs barked as Castiel passed overhead, but no one took notice. And then he caught sight of the other scent. Drops of blood mingled with the vampire's spoor.

It was Dean, he was certain of it. His Dean. He had come to think of him as belonging to him and he'd found, over the years, he was possessive of him. Like other males of his kind, he had long since become accustomed to feeling no emotion, yet at times he felt little flares of unexpected jealousy and fear on Dean's behalf. He wondered if he was feeling Dean's emotions as he shared his mind, but he had no answers. In truth, it didn't matter to him.

The only thing that mattered was finding him. He had no other choice. Dean had become his saviour, even as he was attempting to save her.

He noticed the hunter had broken away from the vampire's trail and veered off into the city. Castiel knew immediately he was seeking blood. He had wounds, and he probably had not fed in several days.

He found his pray in an alley between two buildings. The man was young and muscular, half siting against the wall, a small smile on his face. His head lolled slightly when Castiel bent to examine him, but his lashed fluttered. The man was alive.

Castiel knew he should be relieved to see Dean had not killed hi pray, only taken what was necessary from him as he had so painstakingly drilled into him, but in truth, he wanted to throttle the man. Entering his mind, Castiel learned he had lured the mortal to him with a promise of paradise, with a sexy enticing smile, and his victim had willingly followed him.

The owl called to him impatiently from the roof of the building to his left. They were hunting, it reminded him. Castiel was alarmed by his own lack of discipline. Initially he had wondered if the male child might be his lifemate when they had connected so strongly, but over the years, when Dean steadfastly refused to speak to him, he had decided it must not be so. Yet now, considering his odd reaction to his male prey, he wondered again.

Supernatural beings, like him, lost all emotions and the ability to see in color by the time they turned two hundred, and so it had been for him. It was a bleak existence, relying on one's integrity to live honorably until a lifemate could be found. Only a true lifemate, the other half of each male's soul, could restore emotion and color to him. All the while the insidious temptation to feel for just one moment beckoned the males. If they succumbed and chose to kill while feeding, they became the very thing they hunted - the vampire.

Castiel took to the air, streaking away from temptation. Away from the young man who had been so close to Dean. The young man who had felt Dean's body against his body. His lips moving sensuously over his skin. The erotic, white-hot bite of pleasure/pain. A red haze, treacherous and blazing out of control, slipped into his head, making it nearly impossible to think clearly. Castiel had the sudden urge to back and rip out the man's throat. The desire burned hot and bright, his gut clenching and a strange roaring filled his ears, his mind. He turned in midair.

The owl changed direction, flying toward his face, preventing him from continuing in that direction, beak open wide and eyes staring directly into his.

_You said it was forbidden to kill any but the vampire! _Dean's voice was frightened, a soft denial, almost pleading. _You said never to kill when feeding and never to feed when killing. _

At the long-awaited sound of that voice, Castiel's world turned upside down. He tumbled through the sky while the gray and dark of the night were replaced with shimmering, dazzling silver and brilliant colors. It was like a fireworks display; bursting all around him, robbing him of his ability to breathe, even to see. He closed his eyes against the assault on his senses, struggling to regain control.

The owl struck him hard just as Dean called to him a second time. _Pull up, you're falling. Pull up no!_ There was terror in his voice.

Warmth spread, calmed him, and he righted himself. Dean had given him life again. Saved him from eternal darkness. His lifemate. The only man capable of preventing him from turning vampire.

At long last he had spoken to him. Years of silence had conditioned him to believe Dean would never voluntarily speak to him, but when he was in danger from the raging beast within, he had leapt up to save him in spite of her every resolve not to. Dean had filled the bleakness of his gray existence with colors and life.

_Where are you? How badly are you hurt?_ he asked, praying he would continue to communicate with him.

_Leave this place. I vowed if you ever came here, if you found me, I would not hunt you because you saved me. Go away from here. I don't want to have to kill you, but I will if you force me. _

_I'm not vampire. I'm an ancient. There is a difference._ Dean's sigh was soft in his mind. _So you say, but I know nothing of the Ancients. I have only met the undead, with their voices so sweet and compelling. Voices such as yours._

_Why would I teach you not to kill your prey if I were a vampire? _Castiel was patient. He could afford to be patient. Dean was his world now, the only thing that mattered to him. He had found him, and he would find a way to make him see the difference between a dangerous creature that had chosen to lose his soul, and a warrior fighting to maintain his honour.

_I will give you another warning. If you wish to live, leave this place and never come back. _Again he heard the soft, pleading note in his voice, felt it in his mind. Dean probably didn't even know it was there, but he heard it and it filled him with elation. Castiel believed that he would try to destroy him. Dean was strong and well disciplined. He had taught Dean well, and he was a fast, apt pupil.

They were connected, mind to mind, so Castiel felt the sudden stillness in her. Instinctively he knew that he had reached the lair of the vampire. The undead was wounded, doubly dangerous, and in his own lair he would have numerous safeguards and traps.

_Get out of here. I am close – I will destroy the vampire. It is unnecessary for you to take chances with your life._

_This is my city, my home. My people, under my protection. I don't share with the undead. Leave. _Dean closed himself off to him, slamming a mind block in place, a strong barrier he didn't bother attempting to penetrate.

Castiel sped through the sky, the owl keeping pace with him, eyes searching for sign, senses flaring out to test the air for the noxious trail. He didn't bother to attempt to track Dean; he had taught him too well. His trail was nearly nonexistent. Without the wound, he would never have caught his scent, and he had already dealt with the lacerations so that there was no more telltale spoor for him to follow.

Castiel glanced at his traveling companion, the large owl flying strongly beside him as it had done for years. They were travelling companions. Hunters. Brothers. Watching each other's backs. _ I will go into the lair of the vampire and destroy him. It is not safe for you to do so, but should something happen to me, I ask that you take this man to the Prince. _ His brother could no longer battle the vampire. He was too close to the beast to resist the call of blood.

There was a heartbeat of . Castiel felt the wind rushing past them as they moved together through the sky. For a moment he thought the other would not speak. He so seldom did these days, preferring to remain in the form of an animal. _You give me a task I am uncertain I can fulfill. _

_You can do no other than see to it that he is safely returned to our homeland. He is my lifemate, although as yet unbound. _

Again there was only the silence of the night. _Castiel, I am older by several hundred years. My time is waning. You feel the crouching of the beast. I am the beast. How can you trust my word?_

For a moment Castiel felt his heart jump. Michael had long battled the bleakness of a colorless existence. He had hunted the vampire for hundreds of years, destroying old friends. With each kill it became harder and harder to resist the need to feel something. If Michael made a kill while feeding, he would be lost for all time. Castiel closed his mind to the possibility. Michael was strong and he would endure as long as there was need.

_I trust you, Michael, because I know you. You are a warrior without equal and your honor is everything. You are my brother, the one who came to guard my back in my darkest days, as I have done for you. Give me your word you will do this if I should fall. You would never go back on your word. Not even the beast is stronger than your word. He is one of us, though converted by a vampire. You must perform this one last task and then you can go to ground, only to awaken if you feel the call of your lifemate._ Castiel was firm, dealing warrior to warrior.

There was no other choice for either of them. They had stood for centuries against the vampire, alone in their territories until both were near the end. Until Castiel had been connected to a child being physically and emotionally abused. His brother Michael, centuries older, had rushed to his side, to ensure that Castiel would not succumb to despair when he couldn't prevail the continued assaults.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean looked around himself carefully at the cave in which he had followed the vampire. His lair was close. He had already encountered two of his traps and had slowly, meticulously unraveled them. Dean's chest was inexplicably tight, his lungs laboring to draw air. There was an anxiety in him that had never been there before when he was hunting. _He_ was here at last. Castiel. He whispered his name softly in his mind. Castiel had told it to him often, the sound blending with his accent to form something beautiful, but he never dared repeat it. Now the strange name tugged at his heartstrings. He had known the day would come when Castiel would find him. He had been getting closer month by month, day by day. He was relentless in his pursuit of him, and all alone, Dean had known he would have to face him one day. He thought he had been prepared, but in truth, he was terrified. Dean relied on him, on his concern for him, his companionship, strange though it might be.

Castiel had come into him life in his darkest hour, had shared his torment, the depraved tortures of an evil mind. His voice had been sheer magic, transporting him to his distant lands and places where his captor had not been able to follow. He had left his body behind, but his heart and very soul had roared free. Castiel, so far away, had been his salvation. He had saved Dean's life, saved his sanity.

But Dean had learned the hard way not to trust an alluring voice. He had once responded to one, and that monster had killed his family. Since that time, so long ago, he had heard sweet voices over and over, and all those voices had belonged to liars, depraved monsters who thrived on the pain of others. He thought of Castiel as his only family, yet he knew better than to trust him. He had saved him with his beautiful voice, but he had also taught him other things. He had taught him to kill his captors, taught him to kill the monsters preying on other families, other children. He had taught him to be as he was; a master killer.

Dean ran his hand carefully along the rock wall, knowing there was an entrance, knowing the vampire had to be hiding somewhere behind what appeared to be a solid rock wall. Water was steadily dripping, the sound loud in the small confines of the cave. Dean tilted his head, examining the heavy rock above his head. It seemed solid enough, but there was a distinct uneasiness roiling in his stomach, a warning he had learned from vast experience to heed.

The cave felt like a trap. He took his time surveying the floor. It was uneven, damn in spots, from water leaking continually from the walls. Lightly passing his hand over the rick, he nearly missed the subtle movement beneath his palm. Blinking to try to focus on what he couldn't see, Dean pulled his hand quickly from the surface of the rock. Something lay there, waiting for an unsuspecting victim. Something microscopic, but deadly.

Dean took a cautious step away from the rock wall. Immediately he felt the floor beneath him sink, as if he had stepped onto a sponge. He sank ankle deep into the strange mire. The mu clung to his ankle, sucked at his shoe. Tightened around his skin like a vise. His heart jumped, his breath leaving his lungs in a small rush. He forced his mind to stillness, keeping panic at bay.

Rather than fight the black goo sucking at his foot, Dean chose to dissolve. He shimmered for a moment in the darkness of the cave; then there was only a mist of color glowing in the cavern, moving cautiously just above ground. The colors spun, bright droplets of water weaving together just over the largest damp spot where the water dripped steadily. Suddenly the mist bored into the heart of the spot, penetrating the wet soil and disappearing completely from the chamber.

Dean found himself in a much larger cavern deep beneath the mountain. The smell of sulfur was nearly overpowering, the air thick and hot. Noxious gas seeped and swirled from the green pools that dotted the earth. Yellow vapor clung heavily in the hair. He took great care to examine the ground before he took his true form, placing his feet on solid ground, his knees slightly bent, his body relaxed, ready to spring into action should there be need. Dean had the feeling the need would be great and would come soon. Very soon.

He studied the chamber, not moving, hardly breathing, not wanting to disturb the flow of air, and not wanting to trigger a dangerous trap. There were two openings leading deeper beneath the mountain; he could catch glimpses of subterranean passages which probably extended for miles. Sharp natural spears hung from the ceiling of the cave, great columns of mineral built up to form a legion of armaments, poised over his head. The stalactites made Dean nervous. The enemy was close by, and in his lair he had the advantage.

Cautiously he scanned the chamber, using more than his physical vision. The stench of evil permeated the area, burning his eyes so that tears welled up. Dean was careful not to rub his eyes. It was likely that the thick vapor filling the chamber was dangerous.

_A hunter must presume that everything in in the vampire's lair is a lethal trap. You cannot overlook the smallest detail, especially anything that appears to be natural._ Castiel had taught him that. His saviour. His mortal enemy. He had prepared him with painstaking care for his battles with the undead. He had lived because of him, yet he would be forced to face him in battle.

Impatient with his thoughts, Dean shook his head. He couldn't afford to have his attention divided. Determinedly he pushed Castiel out of his mind and turned his complete concentration to the problem at hand. He scanned the chamber, noting the position of each rock, of the dark, gleaming pools, of the vents of stream rising from them. He paid attention to the holes in the floor, the uneven ground, committing the layout to memory before he ever took a step.

Very cautiously he moved to his left, wishing he dared to be out in the open, away from the walls, but the risk was too great. Something moved just out of his line of vision. He felt the stir of air, the subtle difference in the swirl of vapor as it rose from the pool. A tendril of yellowish mist broke off from the vents of steam and floated idly toward him.

Something brushed his leg, tugged at the tightly material of his jeans. Dean resisted looking. Instead he leapt upwards, kicking out with the edge of his foot, shattering two stalactites and sending the remains plummeting into the bubbling pools. He landed lightly in a crouched position on the other side of the chamber. His hands were up, ready for defense, as he surveyed the results of his handiwork.

The ceiling over his head was alive with movement for a moment, the natural-looking formations swaying slightly with the vibrations of violence. One cracked along its length, exposing briefly a dark interior and a whisper of movement before the crack faded into a seamless formation of minerals.

Without hesitation Dean launched his attack, running along the walls of the chamber with long, light strides, his soles barely touching the wall's surface as he raced around the circumference, climbing higher with each step until he had reached the ceiling once again. There, he exploded into action, driving both feet into the one stalactite that had remained perfectly still. Dagger in hand, he attacked as the force of his blow broke open the cocoon, exposing the vampire. His momentum carried him past the creature, but he whipped around in midair and plunged the sharp blade deep into the chest of the undead.

The vampire's scream was hideous, resonating throughout the chamber as he fell to earth. His cries were a command, and instantly the stalactites overhead rocked, and then erupted with great winged predators. Miniature pteranodons burst from the cocoons, wings spread and flapping fiercely, great beaks opened wide. Vapor swirled and spread as the wings fanned the air.

The dinosaur-birds had bodies much the size of an eagle but their wingspans were shorter than either the eagles or the extinct pteranodons. Engineered by the vampire, the carnivores were designed to guard the chamber and keep out enemies. They flew at Dean's face, snapping at his body with their fierce beaks.

He had landed near a building pool. Carefully he stayed close to the walls of the chamber, knowing he would be easy prey for the screaming birds out in the open. The noise was an assault on his ears, yet he made no attempt to control the volume with his preternatural senses. He needed to hear the slightest whisper of sound in the cave. He punched one bird hard in the neck, knocking it from the sky as he leapt over the pool to reach the vampire, which was crawling away from him.

He landed on his feet, but something hit his left leg hard, knocking it out from under him so that he lurched sideways. In that instant, the vampire reversed directions and was on him, his face a vicious mask of hatred, his breath fetid, and the bloody dagger he had pulled from his chest in his fist.

Dean spun to face him, his hand going for the vampire's wrist. He was wounded, had suffered severe blood loss, so Dean was confident that he was the stronger of the two. He wrapped his wrist and wrenched his hand back toward him. Ducking to avoid talons coming at his face from above, he drove the knife into the vampire's chest a second time.

The vampire roared with hatred, tearing at the dagger. Dean whirled to face a second attack from behind. A monstrous lizard was climbing up out of the bubbling pool, saliva dripping from its formidable Its long tail, which had already scored a hit against his leg, knocking his aside earlier, was swinging ominously. The creature looked much like a Komodo dragon, with clawed feet and a peculiar swinging gait. Its speed was incredible as it rushed at him. Dean had no time to seize the heart from the vampire; he had to dissolve and scatter his molecules through the noxious vapor in order to save himself.

The vapor in the chamber was heavy and carried in in some kind of trap he had never encountered before. Immediately it seemed to latch on to the molecules of mist, soaking them up like a thirsty sponge. Panic flared in him, a sudden realization that he had been careless and was now caught in a trap.

_Shape-shift into one of the birds._ Castiel's magical voice was calm, steading. Close by.

Dean did so instantly, taking the imagine from his mind rather than his own, not realizing he had automatically reached for Castiel, shared with him his peril, allowing him to "see" the trap and the chamber through him. He flapped and screeched right along with the rest of the strange creatures, all the while eyeing the vampire below him.

To his horror, the giant reptile shifted into human form, becoming a tall thin man with a beaked nose and graying hair. He reached out casually to the other vampire, helping him to his feet. In Dean's mind, Castiel went very still. Vampires traveled together at times, but they used one another, sacrificed one another. In all the long centuries of his battles, Castiel had never witnessed one vampire helping another.

"Come, my dear, I grow tired of this little charade," the taller vampire said. He clapped his hands and the birds felt from the air, plummeting into the bubbling pools to scream impotently as they disappeared under the surface. "Vernon needs blood. I think you had best supply him, since you were the one to cause this distress."

Dean settled to earth, shape-shifting to his true form as he did so. "Well, well, its old-friend week, I see," he smiled coolly at the two vampires. He kept his eyes fixed on the taller one. He was strong and without a single wound and very, very dangerous. "I'm surprised a big bad vampire such as you would associate with a weakling like Vernon. He seems a bit out of your league. Three times I scored a hit on him – a bit much, don't you think?" There was a taunting amusement in his voice. Dean's face was a pleasant mask, confident and serene, while inside, his brain was working out a way to escape. The hunter was now the hunted, but he would never, ever allow himself to be taken alive by such monsters.

Vernon snarled at him, exposing his long fangs. "You won't be smiling when I drain the blood from your veins." Spittle ran down the side of his mouth and he coughed, holding his hands over his wounds.

"Now, now, Vernon, he does have a point. A mere youngster and he stuck you like a pig." The taller vampire smiled, exposing his sharp incisors. "No need to get nasty with him over your own incompetence."

_Look for something more. Another perhaps. It seems unreasonable that they would be in the same lair, but he is drawing your attention for a reason. They are afraid of you. You have twice plunged a dagger into one of the undead and you are extremely young to possess such skills, you are a puzzle to them. Look with more than your eyes but do not turn away from him. _Dean sensed Castiel at the cave's entrance, and his heart began to beet much faster.

_Do not show fear, even if it is of me. They will think you weak, and you want them worried. They have never encountered a hunter such as you before. _

He had to trust Castiel; he had no choice. He had hunted Dean for years, wanting him for himself, or some plan he could not fathom. He couldn't imagine Castiel betraying him to other vampires at this late date. And he knew from experience that he was right. Vampires did not share lairs. The situation was unusual and highly dangerous. Dean scanned the chamber, utilizing all his senses. He scented the third adversary immediately. He couldn't locate him, but he knew he was there. Dean shared the information with Castiel.

Dean laughed softly, feigning unconcern while Vernon snarled his hatred of him. Dean turned to the more powerful vampire. "I don't understand. Usually when one as powerful as yourself enters my home territory, I hear rumours." Deliberately he flattered him, managing to sound breathless and slightly flirtatious.

The tall vampire bowed low. "I am called Pater. And you are?"

"Not fooled." Dean whirled around, crouching low, and extracted a dagger from his boot and drove it up into the newest attacker's soft belly. As he shrieked, Dean drove his fist hard through bone and muscle, straight to the heart. His fingers closed around it and he jerked hard as he leapt backward to avoid as much as the poisonous blood as possible.

Flinging the heart as far from the flopping vampire as he could, he struck a spark off the rock wall, fanning the embers as he raced up the wall, then tossing the flames at the pulsating blackened organ so that it incinerated immediately to a fine ash.

Vernon waved his hands recklessly, forgetting for a moment his terrible injuries. Dean had destroyed the third vampire who had waited so patiently to attack him from behind while Pater distracted him. Dean dropped to the ground, ever conscious of the dam spots and yellow vapor swirling thickly.

"I hope he wasn't a friend of yours, Pater," he said, smirking a little. His leg, where the reptile's tail had struck him with such force, was beginning to throb and burn. "I certainly hope you aren't calling yourself Father. You're much too young, you know." He focused on the tall vampire, knowing Vernon posed little threat unless he was close to him. His strength was waning rapidly from loss of blood and the terrible wounds Dean had inflicted upon him.

The tall vampire merely smiled at him. He inhaled deeply, his eyes widening as he took in Dean's scent. "You are one of use – the blood of our people flows in your veins." He looked slightly puzzled. "Haven't you heard the whispers of the movement? We are banding together, one by one, growing strong within our ranks. One piece of straw can blow away in the wind, but a bundle is solid. Took long our power had been hidden. We've been forced to fear while lesser creatures, beings no more than cattle to us, rule the earth. Why? Because we have never joined forces. Together we can defeat the hunters. They are few, and most are close to joining our ranks. We have eyes in the hunters' camps and have been growing in our dominion over the cattle, infiltrating into positions of influence and power. Join with us."

A strange tingling had begun in his calf muscle, alarming because it radiated up his leg toward his thigh and also down his foot. He tilted his chin, suddenly afraid of what Pater was going to say. Was this why Castiel had hunted him for so long? To convince him to join the ranks of the undead in some new bid of power? The idea was chilling. Could he possibly stop such a movement on his own? Who would believe him? If Dean told anyone what he was, they wold destroy him.

"You belong with us." He winced at Pater's words. He couldn't help the shudder that ran through his body, the sudden memories that sickened him. He slammed the door on them hard, terrified of what they would do to him.

Sensing her vulnerability, Pater took a gliding step toward him, barely skimming the ground. Dean stepped to the side, not wanting to back into the wall of the chamber. He was certain there was something there. Unexpectedly, his leg went out from under him. He went down hard, a shocked look on his face. The strange tingling was a paralysis creeping up from the bruising on his calf muscle toward his thigh. His food was rigid, unable to move.

Snarling triumphantly, Vernon pushed past Pater, rushing at him, greedy for blood. He stumbled in his haste, lunging forward. Dean saw his foot lashing out and he rolled awkwardly, the blow catching him on the temple, but without most of its original force. In retaliation, Dean launched a rock straight at one of the wounds on his chest. He could see Pater gliding towards him with his unhurried stride, that same smile on his face.

The heavy rock smashed solidly into Vernon's mangled chest. He howled spittle and blood spraying from his mouth as he nearly collapsed. "I'll kill him," he vowed, so incensed he could barely get the words out. His hatred manifested itself in the chamber. The yellow vapor swirled closer to Dean, circling him as Vernon approached.

Dean waited, watching his every move. Vernon was severely injured, his blood loss great. Despite Dean's inability to move his leg, he was certain he was still the stronger of the two. He could take his heart if he was close enough. He would have to kill at least one of them - before he found a way to destroy himself. He was determined he would not be taken alive by either of them.

Something in his stillness made the vampire pause. Even Pater stopped moving to regard him uneasily. Vernon's hate-filled gaze narrowed and he lunged at Dean.

The chamber exploded with fireworks, bursts of flame and a shower of sparks. A tall, powerfully built man landed solidly in the midst of the pyrotechnics. It was far too later for Vernon to retreat. The new comer's hand caught his bullet-shaped hear and wrenched had, snapping bones. The attacker moved so fast he was a blurred image, his fist driving deep through the undead's chest cavity and extracting the heart from the screaming vampire. As Vernon fell, Dean caught a glint of a dagger. It dropped from the vampire's nerveless fingers and landed a short distance from him.

Dean stared up at the stranger. He knew him. He would know him anywhere. He was raw power and pure elegance with his dark hair and strong face and piercing eyes. Eyes of death. Whirlwind of death. He took Dean's breath away. He couldn't think of him as anything but his mortal enemy. A dangerous vampire who had killed against and again.

"How badly are you injured?" Castiel demanded tersely, his brilliant gaze slashing through the heavy yellow vapor that was gathering around them. "This entire chamber is a death trap. We have to get out of here." He took a step towards Dean, leaned close, reaching for him to gather him into the safety of his arms. Pater had disappeared, and the feel of the chamber was alarming. The very air vibrated with tension and something far more sinister.

Dean flung himself forward to meet him, a dagger concealed along his inner wrist. He would have only one chance to save himself. As Castiel loomed over him, all muscle and sinew and flowing grace, Dean's stomach lurched alarmingly, his resolve weakening for just a moment. The he saw Castiel's eyes. Dark. Dangerous. Flames flickering in the depths. He thrust the knife at his heart.

Hands clamped around both of his wrists in a vise-like grip, pinning the flat of the blade against his skin. Someone caught him from behind, jerking her backward against a hard chest. His captor was enormously strong, his grip unbreakable. Dean threw his head back, attempting to make contact with his captor, hoping to smash his nose. The back of his head hit a chest so hard that pain exploded behind his eyes and in his temples. He could only watch helplessly at Castiel bent ever closer toward him. Dean brought up his one good leg, attempting to kick him.

"We have to get out of here," said a voice behind Dean. Low. Musical. Compelling. "You were careless Castiel. He nearly did you in." Dean's unseen captor twisted the dagger from his hand, and just that quickly slit his wrist.

The action was swift and unexpected, the cut deep and extremely painful. Blood poured from Dean's wrist. He scowled, unable to understand why they would do such a thing. Vampire's craved blood and the power of feeling their prey die. They needed the rush of adrenaline in their victim's blood as much as the blood itself.

"Damn it, Michael, it wasn't necessary to hurt him." The low murmur of the voice registered ever as he felt the combined power of the two men merge, thrust deep and hold her in their thrall.

Completely helpless, unable to move or to deny them anything, Dean could only watch in horror as Castiel gathered him to him, opening his chest with a single slash. He pressed Dean Close, offering his ancient blood; blood Dean knew would bind them together for eternity. He struggled in his own mind, heard the scream of fear and panic wrenched from his soul, a scream that never made it past his throat. But he drank because he had no choice. They were far too powerful together.

_It is necessary to remove the tainted blood from your system. Relax – we have to do this fast. We need to leave this place, and the vampire has poisoned your body with something new to us. Go inside yourself, analyze the compound, break it down and push it out of your body._ As always, Castiel's voice was gentle and steady.

Dean heard his captor chanting, words Castiel had used in his mind before, a rhythm of soft, soothing music that somehow took the pain away from his calf and his wrist. From Dean's shoulder and arm where the vampire had managed to mark him. Strangely, as Castiel's blood poured into him, the terrible burning that was with him day and night seemed to ease. He became aware of Castiel's hand at the nape of his neck, cradling his head, massaging his neck. Gently.

Dean closed his eyes to shut out what was happening to him, the helpless feeling of being utterly and completely vulnerable. The ground beneath them shivered a forewarning. They couldn't dissolve into mist with the poisonous vapor surrounding them, and he couldn't run with the poison in his body paralyzing him. Dean had no idea why they were forcing her blood to run in a steady stream onto the ground and filling him with the powerful blood of an ancient, but it occurred to him that they were risking their lives by staying in the chamber with him.

A part of Dean's brain was working furiously, considering his options, testing his strengths, determined to find a way to escape. Another part of him was relaxing into Castiel's hold, sinking deeper into his compulsion, accepting their strange connection.

"You will have to do it for him, Castiel." The voice floated up from behind Dean, sounding far away. "He is not capable. We will have to take him from this place ourselves. The trap is closing, and the one who escaped hopes to keep us locked here."

That pricked Dean's pride. He could do anything they could do. He was strong and Castiel had taught him well, perhaps far better than he realized. Dean sought inside himself, past the pain and fear, past the knowledge of what and who he was. He simply dropped away, finding pure energy, finding a place of power and healing. His blood was fascinating, and he could clearly see the difference between the blood pouring onto the ground and the blood being forced into his body. He could see the ancient blood at war with his own, driving it from his body, a battle fought in his veins for his heart and soul. There were thick dark spots spreading up his calf, invading his muscles and multiplying at a rapid rate.

He turned his attention to the spots, the dark bacteria that had invaded his bloodstream to do the vampire's binding.

_Hurry. We must go now. I will carry you as close to the surface as possible, but you will have to be able to shape-shift in order to get out of here safely. _As always, the melodic voice was unhurried and unconcerned. Dean was aware of the urgency of their situation. He knew the vampire Pater had escaped. His lair would be a dangerous trap designed to ensnare them. The shifts in the earth were all the warning Dean needed. He concentrated on the spots of bacteria, breaking them down, pushing most of them out of his pores, pushing the threads that had rushed toward his heart back to the huge gash in his wrist.

The terrible paralysis was gone, along with the bacteria. Strength poured into his body with the ancient blood. Castiel brought his wrist to the warmth of his mouth. Dean's heart stilled, skipped a beat, and began to pound heavily. The fiery pain of the laceration eased, was replaced by a curious throbbing, a sudden heat creeping into his bloodstream. The two hunters loosened their mental hold on him, allowing his mind and body freedom from their compulsion. Dean snatched his hand out of Castiel's possession, held it against his heart. He became aware he was cradled in Castiel's arms as he rushed through the maze of subterranean chambers. Dean swept his tongue across the gash in his chest, an automatic gesture to close the wound.

Deliberately he stayed limp in Castiel's arms, gathering his energy, waiting for his opportunity. He turned his attention to the grim-faced man running close to Castiel's side. He was an inch or so taller than Castiel, with the same dark hair and piercing eyes. Michael glanced at Dean, turning those flat, emotionless eyes in his direction, and a shiver went down Dean's spine. He recognized death when he saw it.

They chamber they had left boomed, and there was a loud crash that reverberated throughout the subterranean maze as the walls and ceiling collapsed in on the cave. They were moving with preternatural speed, yet the thick yellow vapor was only a pace behind them.

"I'm much stronger," Dean pointed out. "Put me down, and we'll get out of here faster."

Castiel shifted him in his arms without slowing his pace, allowing Dean's feet to drop toward the floor until he was running with him. Castiel immediately took up a position behind Dean, protecting his back while his brother sex a grueling pace in front of them.

Dean couldn't help admiring the flowing grace of his enemy as he ran, shifting shape as the opening loomed just ahead, a narrow crack none of them would be able to fit through. He had never imagined anyone could shift that fast, the large, the elegant form compressing to that of a bat.

_Now! Hurry, shift! _It was the first time he had detected urgency in Castiel's voice. Dean didn't waste time glancing behind him to see what was following them; the urgency in Castiel's command was enough warning. He held the image of the bat uppermost in his mind, feeling the change take hold of him, move through him, and consume him. His bones wrenched and contracted, reshaped and compressed. He skimmed through the narrow opening, nearly ripping the tip of one wing. He felt Castiel crowding close behind him.

A wall of fire closed in behind them, reaching for them, moving nearly as quickly as they were, pushing the terrible yellow vapor before the greedy orange flames. Dean followed the lead bat up through the narrow opening, his small body cringing from the blast of heat.

_Faster._ Dean whispered the word in his mind, anxious that Castiel was going to get caught in the inferno. He didn't realize he had sent the word into his mind. That he had betrayed his anxiety to him. That behind him, even in the form of a bat, rushing in front of a firestorm, he smiled.

_We will make it._ Castiel was calmly reassuring. That annoyed Dean. He heard his soft, very irritating amusement echo through his mind as Dean burst through the chimney and into the next chamber. It was small and dark and there was an eerie heaviness in the air. The heat was stifling. Castiel swore under his breath, but the words were still a warning in Dean's mind. At once Dean shifted back to his own shape, examining the thick walls of layered rick, the swirling patterns. This strange little cave had once been part of a lava flow but now was a lethal trap devised by a cunning monster. The yellow vapor poured into the small space, quickly filling every crevice.

Castiel and his brother were also feeling along the walls of the cave, judging the heat with their palms as they quickly covered as much surface as possible. "Over here, Michael."

Dean watched as Castiel stepped back to allow Michael to run his hands over the same spot. He moved closer, wondering what exactly they had found. Castiel caught Dean's arm and thrust his smaller body behind the protection of his just as Michael slammed the flat of his palm through the rock.

The ground shuddered; the walls wavered and began to grumble. Great chunks of rock fell in a shower above their heads. Castiel turned; bent his body over Dean's as he pushed him as close to the hole Michael had created as possible. Michael slammed his palm a second time to enlarge the hole. The yellow vapor, tangled around their necks like nooses, began to pull tight. The ground trembled again, and then buckled, a hard jolt that threw them both against the red-hot rock. Dean swallowed a scream of pain, fear choking him. He dared not open his mouth or breathe the terrible venomous fog ensnaring them.

Michael leapt through the jagged opening as the next tremor shook the earth. Castiel caught Dean around the waist and tossed him after his brother. He landed hard on the other side, automatically scanning his surroundings. Behind him, the wall collapsed in on itself, dust and debris mingling with the yellow vapor that had poured through the hole in an attempt to keep them in the smaller cave.

Dean jumped back toward the wall, digging at the rocks, throwing them haphazardly out of the way. "He's trapped," he yelled, clawing at the rocks, his heart nearly stopping. _Are you all right?_ He called out to Castiel, unable to stop himself. His one companion. He couldn't be dead. His saviour. _Talk to me. Say something._

Michael physically dragged Dean away from the wall. "Go," he ordered gruffly. "Do not take this poison into your body – go while you can. I will get him out."

Dean hesitated, watched as Michael began to work at a ferocious pace, working against time while the earth bucked and caved in.

_Go. _ The voice was as steady as ever. Unconcerned. Without worry. He spun around, leapt over an open crevice and raced toward the upper chambers. Every step he took away from him added to the terrible weight pressed against his chest like a stone. He didn't understand it; he didn't want to understand it. He only knew that he could barely breathe, so strong was his need to turn back and go to his aid.

Dean raced away from the remaining tendrils of vapor, shape-shifting as he did so, streaking through the caves and chambers, climbing steadily toward the surface. He was a comet of mist, staying well ahead of the trailing poison, but something of him was left behind. Not flood this time, but something far more important. It was his soul that seemed to be left behind with him in that collapsed chamber.

He burst into the open, into the cool, refreshing air. Dean shifted into the form of an owl, winging his way across the sky. Normally he enjoyed the sensation; the ability to take on this form was a benefit of what he had become. Now his mind was consumed with the need to know that Castiel was alive and well. It was all he could think of, all that mattered.

_Nice to know I matter to you. _There was that inevitable male amusement, designed to set his teeth on edge, but this time he only felt relief. _We are clear of the chamber and fighting our way out of the vapor. We will join you soon. _

Dean broke the connection abruptly. They would not be joining him soon. He needed the solace of the earth. His wounds burned and throbbed, reminding him that he could feel pain when he wasn't making a continuous effort to block it out. Weary, he still made every effort to cover his trail. He could not take change of being found. He knew Castiel, knew how skillful a hunter he was. He had given him access to his memories, and he had such a wide range of experiences, century after century of battles. Dean was in no shape to fight him, especially as he had a travelling companion with him.

Dean deliberately doubled back several times, watching his back trail. He was determined to pick the time and place of his battle, to make certain the advantages were all on his side. He would never allow himself to be a captive again.

Bone-weary, he settled in a small grove of trees halfway up the mountainside in a national park. The wind was blowing hard, intensifying a biting cold that seeped into his body all the way to his bones. Shivering, he wove his safeguards, a maze of traps that would deter humans and slow vampires, as well as alerting her to their presence.

As he opened the earth, felt the rejuvenating soil beckoning to him, he thought about what Castiel had done. He had saved his life, shoved him clear of the collapsing wall, and acted the savior over and over again. Was that the work of a true vampire? All that he had ever seen of vampires argued against him being one. True, their voices were fair and sweet and lured even the wary to them. They could appear handsome and sensual. But they couldn't mask their evil natures; they were selfish and spiteful and gloried in the pain of their victims. They would never willingly help anyone, or save anyone.

Yet there was Pater and his plan to unite vampires in a grand scheme to take over the world. No matter how far-fetched, the idea truly terrified him. Vampires had incredible powers, tremendous influence over humans, creating puppets to do their bidding, evil minions to carry out their orders even while their masters rested below the earth and out of the sun.

Castiel had never shown those traits, not even in his battles. During his fights, Dean had felt the wildness in him rise, a demon crouched and poised ready to destroy, but it was always leashed, always under control. He sighed softly. He needed to find out much more about him before he destroyed him, his only companion.

He could never admit to himself he would miss Castiel if he never again merged his mind with Dean's. He counted on him. So many times while he was learning to kill the vampire who'd tormented him, he had drawn heavily on his memories. More than that, Dean had relied on him for emotional support. Through even the most degrading, frightening times of his life, Castiel had been with him. Sheltering him. Distracting him. Keeping him alive.

Dean settled deeper into the soothing arms of the earth. Castiel had often told him fairy stories of a race of beings. Ancients. He had said he was one, that he hunted those of his kind who betrayed their race by becoming the most evil of all beings. In the beginning he'd thought he had made up the tales to distract him from the terror of his existence. Later he thought he was attempting to lure Dean to him, to make him believe he was something other than vampire. In all the time Dean hunted the undead, he had never run across any being such as he had described. As Dean closed his eyes and the soil poured in over him, as the breath left his body and his heart ceased to beat, his last thought was that he must find out more about this species. He prayed they truly existed.


End file.
